Breaking the Ice
by Tomatoes And Turtles
Summary: The royalty of Westerius confronts its past - courtesy of northern invaders - who return with someone the king thought he sacrificed. In another kingdom, a thief takes the time to look beyond the facade of an infamous general and finds more than he ever expected. Fantasy AU. Many characters but FACE focused. Inspired by Winter's Heart by Alowl.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

_Disclaimer (because this time, we actually need one): No, Tomatoes and Turtles do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or the idea of the fanfiction at all. Hetalia belongs to __Hidekaz Himaruya. The original concept was inspired by a prompt from Hetalia kink meme (though there is a major difference between that and our fanfic) and premise of the fanfic belongs to Alowl. All we did was take her idea (with permission, of course) and ran in the opposite direction. However, the prologue and the first two chapters are based scenes from her original story._

_So, without further ado..._

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Chapter 0: Prologue

_Once upon a time (but certainly not the last time) …_

Arthur Kirkland, King of the Eastern and Western Lands was in an awful position, to say the least. He was anxiously waiting in the darkness of the night in the forest located right behind his palace, carrying someone very dear to him. As the shadows played tricks on him, he began to regret coming here at all.

Yet here he was, making the sacrifice which would determine the fate of his kingdom.

A few minutes later, the mischievous shadows began to reveal what he was dreading the most. He could barely make out the features of _them_, waiting by the tree line farther from the castle. At the very sight of them, he gently fell to his knees, tightly clutching the soft bundle in his arm and begging through his tears, "P-please don't make me do this."

Ruthless black eyes glinted in the light of the moon. "You dare go back on your word?" The tension-filled question was whispered, yet it was loud and clear through the billowing wind.

Suddenly, the desperate king found the last bit of courage to blurt out, "Yes – I dare!" His panicked stare tried to avoid the dark eyes of the figure hidden in the shadows. "I – won't," he slowly got up again, tightening his arms around the child. "I will not give him to you!"

"If that is the case, you will die," the figure's answer was definite. "And your kingdom will suffer dearly the consequences of your decision," he hissed with the wind. "If you do not give into our demands, we shall plunge your kingdom into darkness." The figure walked with the silhouettes of the night as they grew closer to the king. "No one shall be spared." He stepped forward, "Not your men," and got closer, "Nor your women or children," and closer still, "Absolutely_ no one_." Two gloved hands roughly grabbed the young king's robes, pulling him closer to the figure, forcing him to meet the man's merciless gaze. "Your precious prince will die regardless…"

The death-like grip on the ruler's robes was suddenly released and the figure impatiently waited for his response. The young ruler inevitably met the man's black void-like eyes, and soon the monarch's face read submission.

Arthur looked down at the small boy in his arms one last time – no longer a toddler, but still a very young child. He gently placed his hand on his downy golden hair, his fingers lightly tracing down to his soft cheeks which were slowly starting to lose baby fat. The father's face contorted into an expression of indescribable pain as the child giggled with glee and huddled deeper into his father's arms. Arthur closed his eyes and held him close, taking in every last detail of his son – down to the homely scent left on his clothes.

"Take him," he whispered, his quiet voice filled with self-abhorrence.

And unwillingly, he released his snug grip on the child.

A gust of wind blew and one flurry of motion later, the boy was swept away from his loose embrace and the entourage that took him was nowhere to be seen.

The king somehow managed to get to his feet and clumsily advanced, tears blurring his vision. He sprinted through the playful shadows and the mocking wind, frantically looking a way to reverse his decision. Only did he stop his distraught search when he tripped on a tree root, collapsing on the cold, hard ground. Arthur turned to his side and curled into a ball, miserably reflecting on what he had done.


	2. Chapter 2: Revealed

_Disclaimer: No, Tomatoes and Turtles do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or the idea of the fanfiction at all. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. The original concept was inspired by a prompt from Hetalia kink meme (though there is a major difference between that and our fanfic) and premise of the fanfic belongs to Alowl. All we did was take her idea (with permission, of course) and ran in the opposite direction. However, the prologue and the first two chapters are based scenes from her original story._

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Chapter One: Revealed

A few barely knew about the existence of Prince Matthew Kirkland.

It wasn't because he was a well-guarded secret or anything of that sorts – it was just really hard _not_ to be overshadowed by Prince Alfred, his older brother. Especially with royalty, it was only natural to pay more attention to the first-born – and that wasn't even including Alfred's personal twist to the mix. As a child, Alfred was a ball of energy, getting into trouble almost on a daily basis. The court absolutely adored that about him, and almost worshipped him at some points.

In contrast, Matthew was practically invisible. He was calm and quiet, preferring books and stuffed animals over swords and mischief. And, unlike Alfred, he just did not seem to have as much magical potential as his older brother did.

You see, fire and Alfred just seemed to go together, even when he was barely old enough to crawl. If he was placed in front of a candle, he'd have been completely absorbed in the objective of trying to touch it, much to the alarm of his father and nannies who tried to keep him at a safe distance. When they did, they'd quickly regret the decision as Alfred's wails permeated the entire castle for hours at a time. As soon as he learned to walk, he ended up wobbling to the nearest fireplace, completely unharmed – to the alarm and amazement of his father. If the prince walked just close enough to a fire, the flames would try to reach him, much like his human admirers. It was as if he and fire were made for each other.

Word quickly spread about his talents, and soon the word on the street was that Alfred was a prodigy. And as he grew, he proved the rumours to be true. He would eventually be a natural at all types of fire magic – practically bursting with magical potential. Arthur, king of the Western Kingdom (now known as Westerius after they lost property rights over the East) was a proud father and would eventually brag, as he himself was naturally inclined to fire– just not as much as Alfred was.

So when the time came that the warriors of the North demanded custody of Fire Prince in return for sparing his kingdom, Arthur found little trouble choosing his next step, even though it was a painful choice to make. As King, he had to make the best decision for his subjects, not just for his children. And royalty-wise, it was unheard of to sacrifice a first born anyway, since one would be giving up the _Crown Prince_. And to hammer the final nail in the coffin, it would not be wise to give away a person with an unfathomable amount of raw power, that rivalled the powerful mages of myth, to a power-hungry invading kingdom.

Almost nobody knew that there was a second prince – until he was sacrificed at the tender age of six, that is.

Alfred was one of them. He was accustomed to his younger brother's frequent disappearances and initially suspected this to be one of them. But when Matthew failed to appear after an extended amount of time, the young prince went frantic. He would desperately search for the young boy that would quietly and happily trail by his side. Alfred would search the library and palace gardens, his brother's favourite spots. He muster up courage to explore dark corners and rooms, places he feared were inhabited by ancient ghost and spirits, in hopes of finding his crybaby brother simply lost in the palace's complex labyrinth. But as his searches became more and more unfruitful, the more the boy's spirit fell and eventually broke down into tears. His father could only manage to softly comfort the child, sadly admitting the heartbreaking truth that his brother is no longer here. The boy wailed for months, desperately awaiting the return of his missing brother. While the two barely spoke to one another, Alfred felt a deep connection he knew he had lost and taken away from him. As time flew by, Alfred cries began to soften and eventually stopped as he accepted his younger brother will no longer come back.

It was four years later, once Alfred turned ten, when Arthur deemed him old enough to know the truth about his brother's disappearance.

Alfred started to call his father by his first name the very next day.

There was much more at stake than the strain that the revelation put on Arthur and Alfred. To the Fire Prince, it said more about Arthur than all his years of knowing him. If he was willing to give away his own _son_ for insurance, then what was stopping him from doing something similar again? With that in mind, Alfred spent the next five years doing anything and everything in his power to rebel against his father – whether it was ruining dinners with important nobles or neglecting to attend his classes, as long as it made his father look bad.

On this particular day, Alfred Jones – not Kirkland, as he would correct – aimed a particularly heated glare at his father from his seat next to the throne, his grip tensing on the velvet-covered arms of his seat. Alfred was somewhat tall for his age – which would have helped give a better view of the audience chamber if he wasn't already on a chair next to the throne. He looked around the room, his bright blue eyes sweeping the chamber. His blond hair flickered in the light of the torches and a small frown expressed on his teenaged face. Despite his well-known status as an arrogant and cheerful trouble maker, the crowned prince was more sullen than he appeared. Times like this, he wouldn't even bother to hide his displeasure at the situation.

When Alfred glared up at his father, Arthur returned the heated gaze and then some. The king was all too aware of his son's disapproval, but remained firm on his decision, frequently explaining that it was for the best, which would always spark an argument between the two. The father and son ended their glaring competition when they jumped at the sound of trumpets.

Despite it being nine years after their first threats of invasion, the Northern army was just as vicious as ever. They demanded negotiation with the Western Kingdom instead of attacking, sending a messenger as they did almost a decade ago – just to mock them, in Alfred's opinion. And to the loud disapproval of the prince, the messenger was authorized safe passage to the palace. Alfred gripped the arms of the throne again as memories of his brother flowed into his mind.

"Calm down, you idiot!" Arthur snapped as he made his way to stand beside his son. He stared his son down with an icy green glare as he coldly continued, "Are you _trying_ to start a war with the North?"

"They've already declared war on us," Alfred muttered, loathing in his tone as he scowled at the chamber doors. He moved awkwardly to find a more comfortable seat on the throne. "Making this meeting _completely useless._"

"You are the Crown Prince of Westerius," Arthur growled. "And as such, you must act in a manner fitting to your status! If you want to wear the crown, you _wear_ it, and all that comes with it – meaning you have to pay attention to the slightest chance we can get through this without being dragged into a meaningless war that will get half our people killed."

"Like how you did?" Alfred felt a trace of grim satisfaction as his father flinched backwards as if he was slapped. "You'll have to excuse me, _your majesty_, if I think there are some things have too high a price."

Arthur's retort was interrupted by the trumpets sounding off yet again. Nobles quieted down as a messenger apprehensively came forward announcing, "All hail. My lords, allow me to present –" at the sound of the double doors swinging open, the courier immediately drew back. The only sound that could be heard was the relaxed click dark boots of a familiar dark figure.

"I can speak for myself."

Alfred watched from the corner of his eye as Arthur stiffened like a wooden plank, emerald-green eyes wide with disbelief and what he assumed was recognition. The voice was deep, a rumble of thunder as the large man made his way through the throne room. He gave a quick sarcastic bow before introducing himself, "I am the Master of the North. Lord of the Wild Hunt. Keeper, Breaker, and Beloved of Winter, greatest of the Four."

Following his words, a small group of similarly built men came behind him in a plain formation. All had similar black eyes, shooting the court with furtive glances and sword on hand although not ready at stance. They were also alike in clothing styles, preferring to dress in thick dark furs despite the blistering summer's heat. It was making Alfred uneasy, thinking about how much weapons that could be hidden under their hulky fur coats.

The Master of Winter was tall and thick with muscle, had broad features and dense dark hair. His smile did nothing to reduce the intimidation in his appearance. If anything, the casual smile on his face made it worse. "I am come as an envoy, so that we might negotiate the situation." The words were lazily said, completely ignorant of the indignant response and expression of the king.

"You were specifically told to come alone," Arthur snapped from his position beside Alfred, staring at the line of people behind the large man. He forced himself to swallow the boiling rage that was trying to emerge, which resulted in him trembling in suppressed anger.

The Master smirked before he yawned. "And I chose not to."

He gestured towards his guards behind him. "This is my personal guard. I believe I am allowed a detachment for – what do you call it? 'Self-defence.'" He raised an eyebrow. "It's only – 'civilized', isn't it?" The distaste was rather prominent in his tone.

"Then who's that?" Arthur's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he pointed forward with his chin. The Fire Prince's eyes followed his father's gaze to the unlucky person to earn Arthur's attention and his own eyes narrowed in suspicion.

In contrast to the blocks of men clothed in dark furs, the man Arthur was directing attention to was dressed in the brightest white and had a thin built. The unknown man in long bluish white robes that had a fur trimmed hood concealing his face silently made his way slightly behind the Master. The white-clad man was slightly taller than average height and held a tall staff covered in white linen in one hand, staring at the floor, avoiding any chance of seeing his face unless his hood was taken off.

"This –" And the Master reached out, settling a huge, paw-like hand on a thin shoulder. "- Is my General." The Master smiled deceivingly down at the smaller man.

"Your 'General' got a name?" Alfred spoke for the first time, face openly suspicious as he warily gazed at the intruders.

"My apologies. I haven't introduced you yet, have I?" A slow smirk crossed his features. "Lords of the West –" his voice rose as he stepped forward. "I present to you, my most trusted advisor." His smile sharpened. "The General Winter."

Alfred stared, jaw dropping open in shock. Arthur wasn't that far behind either.

Winter.

_General Winter._

As fire was to Alfred, the same could told about General Winter and ice. Said to be an entity completely made of ice and merciless to anyone that stood in its path, the Ice Mage was legendary. That was, until it was apparent that it bent to the will of the Master as an undisputed advisor. Recently, the Winter General was said to have led the armies of the North as a top class warrior and a gifted assassin.

According to rumours, the only person who could surpass the level of malice and sadism he possessed was none other than the Master. At least half the dead of the last campaign could be laid at his feet alone. They say that the deaths weren't painless either, as Winter's favourite method of killing was to subject large populations to sheer coldness, leaving them to die as the blood froze solid in their veins.

"You _dare…"_ Arthur breathed as his body trembled "-to bring that, that _pestilence_ here!" The king was completely wrathful as he roared at the Northerners gathered at the bottom of the platform. "This is no negotiation! Get that – _waste_ out of my throne room immediately!" He hurled a hand forward, pointing furiously towards the doorway.

The fur-lined hood shuddered, the mage turning his head to face the furious shouts; he seemed to tremble even more than he was before as the Master draped a hand across his shoulder. "But why?" At the Master's calm voice, the mage's trembling stopped quickly. "Doesn't he belong here?" His words were addressed as much as to the general as to the monarch.

"There's no place on my court for that beast!" Arthur was as livid as he could be, spittle flying out of his mouth.

"And officially consider yourselves at war with Westerius!" Alfred interrupted, voice rising at the Lord of the Wild Hunt.

"When will you ever learn to _hold your tongue_, Alfred? I am the King here, and this is _my_ decision to make! You have no say in this because you know _nothing_! "

"Oh, I know!" Alfred roared in response. "I know that –" He shot a sudden look at the Master, face filled with quick distrust.

"Oh, don't mind me." The Master waved a hand, clearly amused at their argument. "As much as I've been enjoying this, I can't ignore the fact that I've haven't been as polite as I should have been." The smile that came across his face looked sharper than a mouthful of dragon's teeth. "Since I _have_ failed to introduce you properly." One leather-gloved hand yanked the furred hood back, a flow of short pale blond hair following in its wake.

"_Matthew?" _


	3. Chapter 3: Obscured

_Disclaimer: No, Tomatoes and Turtles do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or the idea of the fanfiction at all. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. The original concept was inspired by a prompt from Hetalia kink meme (though there is a major difference between that and our fanfic) and premise of the fanfic belongs to Alowl. All we did was take her idea (with permission, of course) and ran in the opposite direction. However, the prologue and the first two chapters are based scenes from her original story (so expect our stuff next chapter!)._

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Chapter Two: Obscured

"_Mattie?" _Alfred's voice was choked with emotion.

Wavy blond hair that ended at his chin was parted in the middle to reveal similar features – almost exactly like the face Alfred saw every day in a mirror. It was the face of his brother. The one he lost to the North – to the _very same people_ that stood in front of him. His skin was ghostly pale, as if there was no blood circulating under his skin at all. His eyes were a dim sapphire blue, which contrasted his brother's bright cornflower blue.

At a silent signal from his Master, he knelt close to the ground and placed his staff on the floor. He seemed to avoid meeting anyone's gaze, preferring to focus on unraveling the staff from the linen wrappings. Actually, focusing wasn't exactly the right phrase to call it. Even though he was trying to ignore everyone who now had their eyes on him, it was apparent that he could still feel their stares.

So instead of carefully unwrapping the linen strips surrounding the staff, he ended up taking longer to unravel the heavy scepter with his trembling hands. Matthew clumsily stood up again, nervously clutching it in his hand, revealing it to be forged of fine silver and set with spikes of white quartz that shimmered like shards of ice.

"Impossible!" It just didn't seem to be Arthur's day, because at this point, he was almost in hysterics. "It can't be him!" That was when he started shouting at the Master and his guard, with a hint of pain in his harsh tones. "This has to be some sick trick, isn't it?! Isn't it?!"

"You gave it to us, didn't you?" The Master's tone was almost conversational, as if he was talking about livestock rather than a living person. As he petted the blonde's head like he would a dog, the blond in question stiffened at his touch yet remained compliant. "It was quite the surprise to find out that you gave us the _younger_ prince." He grasped a handful of Matthew's hair, eliciting a tiny squeak of pain from the boy. "And it was almost laughable to think that you would ever try to deceive the North." The larger man found a hold on the smaller boy's head and shoved him forward onto the floor. The room fell into another silence as he struggled to get up again.

There was a myriad of emotions that passed through Arthur's face. He turned almost as pale as Matthew was as he timidly addressed his previously long-dead son. "Matthew…?"

Cerulean eyes searched for the source of the sound of his name and the small teen looked up at his father for the first time in nine years with absolutely no reaction. There was no way to tell exactly what he was thinking when he saw his family.

Everyone remained motionless except for Matthew who quietly shuffled to the side of his Master, who continued speaking as if Arthur hadn't said anything. "In the end, this child was a great asset to our little cause. With the right motivation, of course." He grabbed the boy's collar with one hand to show an elaborate circle of markings around the boy's neck.

"You know, I find this situation ironic," he mused to the royal family. "In an attempt to swindle us, you've ended up giving us the most powerful mage to arise in generations." His lips curled in sadistic enjoyment. "And for that, the North has you to thank, _your majesty_." He took two steps backward, smile grew into a cruel grin. "Pet," he drawled, one hand rose in an airy wave. "Kill him."

"Now hold o–" Alfred came to his feet, his face darkening at the order.

Suddenly, Matthew raised his hand, launching a gust of cold wind along with a shard of ice roughly the length of a sword. It would have taken Alfred's head if he had not gotten out of the way in time. Instead it was sent careening into the throne and lodging itself into the marble backing. The older twin paled as he looked at the fate of his seat and back at his younger brother, who expressed resigned sadness on his face.

The younger twin changed his stance, holding out his staff horizontally. Moisture in the air became visible as it stood still for an instant before coming together into jagged blades. Ice came to life, twisting below the blonde's fingertips in blue-white shards. Savage fragments of ice curled around the blonde, an ice-storm howling as frost expanded in a circle from his feet. He turned his staff vertically and raised it in a ready position and he closed his eyes as he slashed downward like he would a sword, setting the storm loose.

The ice lances whipped out at Alfred like arrows.

Alfred finally jerked out of his daze and met the blows with bright flames. In a trained reflex, crimson flames flowed from the prince's extended hands, forming a shield of fire that took the brunt of the frost.

Alfred's face twisted with concentration, eyes never leaving his brother's regretful expression as he shouted, "Get out of here!" His words were barely capable of being heard above the roar of flames, but were apparently perfectly audible to the many nobles and minor lords panicking around the audience chamber.

"All you! Now!" He placed his hands together as if in prayer and pulled them apart, gold flames spilled from his hands into a glaring arc as a sword materialized before him; he grabbed it, the blade a reassuring weight in his hands.

It was a rather simple sword – gold hilt embedded with rubies and a few swirling designs in the metal bands – but the steel was sharp, and that was one of the few things about the blade that mattered to him. Despite the slightly mediocre job he did as it was his first time making a sword; it was perfectly crafted to be used in his magic.

The fire died out, revealing a thin dome of frost where the fire shield used to be. The dome began to vibrate before it shattered, sending shards of ice in every direction. Matthew quickly raised a hand which directed the barrage of icicles after Alfred. The Fire Prince ducked to his left and held his sword out horizontally, summoning a screen of fire to block the incoming attack. When ice met fire yet again, it created enough steam to cover him when he swiftly ran forward to land a blow to disarm his brother. To his surprise, Matthew saw the blow coming and expertly blocked it with his staff. Throughout all of the blows they exchanged, the ice mage carried the same look of guilt on his face.

As Alfred tried another strike with his sword, he heard his brother quietly say, "I'm sorry about this," as he ducked, turned on his heel and kicked Alfred to increase the distance between them. Alfred spotted a shine from the corner of his eye and instinctively dodged to his side yet again. He looked to where he stood before, only to see splintered shards of ice scattered on the ground. He glanced back to see his brother slowly approached him, leaving frost to spread where he previously stepped. As he walked, he spread his arms wide and the ground began to rumble as if there was an earthquake. Suddenly, colossal pillars of ice shot out of the ground, leaving rubble scattering everywhere as they grew past the roof.

When the rubble was being pushed aside, it resulted in clouds of dust and cinders being released into the air. Alfred moved back from the clouds, covering his nose and mouth with his sleeve and coughing out the dust that threatened to fill his lungs. He knew that there were still a few people who didn't escape, so he tried his best to alert them about the impending sand storm that was spreading. He didn't have time to hope that all of them got away safely and instead went back to face his brother yet again.

Matthew was where he had left him, ready for his attack, summoning a wave of ice to join the vicious fire Alfred had amassed. No matter how hard each twin pushed to overpower the other, none of them could surpass the other. It had reached to the point where Alfred was trying so hard that his flames transformed to a bluish white, almost matching the same colours as Matthew's ice if it wasn't considerably brighter.

They had reached an impasse. The flames tried to melt the ice, but the ice couldn't be beat back.

All of a sudden, a whirring noise was his only warning. He couldn't react in time, only to find an arrow stuck into his shoulder. His concentration wavered for a moment as he gawked at the arrow, providing an opportunity for Matthew to overpower his flames and push him back to the ground. Alfred looked back to the source of the arrow, only to see the Master grinning and the rest of his guard aiming another set of arrows at him. Suddenly, one of the men called, "Fire!" And abruptly all of the arrows sailed through the air towards him.

"No!" Arthur seemed to come out of nowhere, creating a transparent barrier to block the incoming torrent of arrows. The jade-eyed wizard used the opportunity to haul his son to the stone door disguised as a wall behind the throne. He immediately sealed the exit behind them.

The Master came up to the Ice Mage, who was leaning on his staff to rest from his recent scuffle with his brother. As soon as Matthew saw the Master approaching him, his face immediately blanked. The Master only had one Order for him, signalled by the glowing of the runes on the Ice Mage's neck.

"Hunt them down and kill them both."

Unlike the many previous occasions of being given an Order, Matthew merely replied with a faint smile.

Back with Arthur and Alfred, Arthur slammed the door shut behind them, locked it and put down the deadbolt before running up the stairs into the hidden room. Only then did he put all of his attention to his son who was trying to endure the pain from his injured shoulder.

"Alfred, are you alright?" The father had given up his brusque attitude when dealing with his son with good reason – in the form of an arrow protruding out of Alfred's shoulder.

"Not really," the prince answered through winces and groans. He did his best to open his eyes before trying to ask, "Just then – was it really…?" he cut himself off, wrapping his hand around the injury as a wave of pain hit his shoulder. His father immediately knelt down beside him.

Arthur knew what he was asking and he heaved a heavy sigh. "Yes, it really was...Matthew." His voice was full of hurt as he put his hand on his son's uninjured shoulder. "Don't try to overexert yourself," Arthur whispered before Alfred could open his mouth to object.

The king looked out the nearest window to see fire spreading across the palace roof. He felt a dropping sensation in his stomach as he realized that the North would be doing the same to the streets and that they had to move quickly very soon if they wanted to save their kingdom. Arthur ignored his son's attempt to discuss about further steps as he formulated a plan of his own.

Moments later, a loud knocking coming from the door downstairs interrupted them. The duo stayed crouching at the top of the stairs in view of the door below to see what would happen next. The father and son tensed at the unfamiliar voice they heard coming from the other side of the door, Arthur's arms curling around Alfred's shoulders protectively.

"Leave us." Arthur and Alfred blanched at the sound of another voice, but was more familiar, as well as quieter and spoke in the Western language with a Northern accent.

The deeper voice continued to object, or at least, that was what Arthur and Alfred assumed, because Matthew replied with another command to leave.

Matthew's voice was blank – no threats, anger, nothing. It got the job done anyway, as a set of heavy footsteps walked away from the wall. Then there was the sound of a silver-and-crystal staff being set delicately on the stone floor. Then – a single pair of footsteps, walking softly towards the door.

"Father?" Matthew's sounded uncertain. "Are you there? Al?"

"Yes," Arthur responded, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "We're here."

There was a thud, as if someone put their back against the door. A few moments later, on the inside of the room, the stone door was reinforced with a thick layer of black metal, so the frost that started in the middle of the door and spread outwards could be clearly seen from where Alfred and Arthur were standing. Soon after they spotted the growing layer of thin ice, the duo could visibly see their breath in small clouds of white.

"Mattie?" Alfred sounded a bit more than curious as he asked, "What are you doing?"

Another awkward silence ensued as the boy on the other side of the door didn't answer. The feeling of dread filled the duo as they both felt the temperature dropping faster and faster. Alfred wriggled himself out of his father's grasp and slowly made his way down the stairs, too dazed to feel the pain in his shoulder. "Matt? Are you still there?" Alfred hissed in pain as he put his hand on the frost covered door, doing his best to ignore the sting of the ice under his hand.

"Yes…" Matthew eventually answered in a whisper.

Arthur made his way down the stairs to speak to his youngest son. "Why are you doing this, lad?" His voice was soft.

Another pause. His voice was still quiet, but a note of desperation appeared. "I wish I could tell you, but –" The sound of choking could be heard; a series of hacking coughs came to the ears of the listening duo as Matthew wheezed. "I…I have to go now." Shuffling against the door could be heard. "Goodbye…"

"Matt! Wait…!"

And then, silence.


	4. Chapter 4: Decimated

_Disclaimer: No, Tomatoes and Turtles do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or the idea of the fanfiction at all. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. The original concept was inspired by a prompt from Hetalia kink meme (though there is a major difference between that and our fanfic) and premise of the fanfic belongs to Alowl. All we did was take her idea (with permission, of course) and ran in the opposite direction. However, the prologue and the first two chapters are based scenes from her original story._

_From this point onward, expect some OOC from a few of the characters, because we're headed to original territory here. Hope you still enjoy it nevertheless!_

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Chapter Three: Decimated

As soon as Matthew turned away from the door that led to where his former freezing family lay, a vindictive smile began to grow on his face.

Finally.

Finally, the pain in his side known as the Kirkland family was gone, along with the blasted Order to act like a pathetic weakling and the Illusion that made him look the part. When he saw their faces twisting in fury at the moment when his Master first reunited them, he could barely keep the ruse up. It was lucky that he did, because if he disobeyed the Order, he would have been hit with the most excruciating pain anyone could ever experience.

Now he could hear the sounds of his older brother trying to break the door down, yelling his name like he cared. Matthew scowled at the thought. They hadn't changed at all since they threw him away, that family of his. He still didn't know why his Master came up with the idea to pretend that he was still their prisoner. The only reaction their botched reunion got out of him was mild amazement at the nerve they had to pretend that they still gave a damn about him.

For extra measure, he added more power into the freezing spell to speed up the killing process. _Good riddance_, he thought.

The Ice Mage left the castle, his face curling in distaste at the use of fire around him. He walked past the usual scenes of carnage – the slaughter, the pillaging, the crackling of that accursed fire – with bitter memories of his so-called family. They only showed concern now because he was still alive and with the North. If he had died back then, they wouldn't have bothered.

Nobody ever did.

His thoughts were interrupted by a searing pain which pulsated throughout his body. It was Master's "special" way of calling him back. He supposed he was slowly improving his tolerance towards the pain, seeing as he only fell to one knee instead of collapsing like all those times before. Once most of the pain subsided, he silently made his way back to the ruins of the formerly grand palace of his memories.

"Pet," his Master called in the language of the North. Matthew immediately moved in front of the Lord of the Wild Hunt and knelt on one knee, head bowed.

"You called, Master?" he quietly responded in the same tongue. The man nodded, signalling the mage to stand by his side. The boy quickly obliged, as he knew that Master didn't like to be kept waiting.

"I did. I simply felt that you needed to know the news that was recently given to me." The Northern Master handed his mage two pieces of tattered cloth. Matthew quickly recognized the former high quality fabrics as the royal robes that his father and brother wore earlier that day.

"Master?"

His Master grinned as he answered his pet's…curiosity. "While you were on your walk, an explosion was heard from the room you killed your loving family in."

The mage's eyes widened in realization. "It seems that as your foolish family failed to realize that there were easier means of escape and blew themselves up in their attempt to escape. This," he pointed to the tattered scraps of cloth in his hand, "was all that my guard found of them."

The young general was beside himself in rage. He couldn't believe that _**he**_ of all people didn't have the pleasure of killing them! He tried his best not to direct the glare at his Master. It was his fault, after all - that stupid plan was his idea. If Matthew had any form of control of the situation in any form, he would have killed them his way. But now it was too late to complete his goal, seeing as they went ahead and blown themselves up!

He stiffly bowed to his Master in dismissal and walked away, leaving a frozen trail behind him.

* * *

"Matthew!" Alfred yelled as he rammed his fist into the frozen door.

He kept doing this for several times, despite the fact that he wasn't in good condition to begin with, each time getting weaker as the coldness sapped his energy. In all his years, he'd never felt despondent enough to the point of feeling physically ill (with the exception of when he was told that Matthew was dead) until now.

He brooded over why any of this was happening. He wondered about what they did to his brother for all these years. He hated the "Master" who made a slave out of Matthew. He hated himself for not being able to do anything to stop it. He hated his father for giving Matthew away even more than before; he fumed as he glared at the back of the older blonde's head.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Arthur didn't answer and continued to walk along the wall, tapping certain areas as he murmured to himself. He seemed to have recovered quickly from his bout of regret, Alfred observed. It made him more than irritated to see that Arthur was handling the situation well, despite everything that had happened. The Westerian King shook his head and stood on a velvet clothed chair and tapped the ceiling. He jumped off the chair and softly cursed as he began to pace.

"Quit leaving me out of the dark again, old man!"

"Be quiet, I'm thinking of a way out!" Arthur snapped as he continued pacing.

While the king was doing who knows what, Alfred was trying to tend to his shoulder, since Arthur was interrupted in the process of trying to remove it earlier. The temperature was dropping quickly and he felt himself getting weaker as he his teeth involuntarily chattered and used all of his dwindling strength to pull the arrow out, letting out a muffled shout of pain. He glowered at his father, who hadn't noticed anything in his pacing. After forcibly removing the arrow, Alfred ripped a piece of cloth out of his clothes to tightly wrap around the wound.

That was when he tried to look for escape routes. He tried to use his fire spells, but he was too weak to summon anything. He was getting too weak to take down any walls and they were on the second floor. It didn't matter if they risked it anyway, seeing as jumping out of the window would draw attention to them, he thought as he looked out the window.

Alfred looked at the older man yet again as he continued to pace, occasionally rubbing his arms for warmth. He knew that Arthur was planning to do something, and was angered that he hadn't done anything yet. It was that anger that was keeping him from falling unconscious. "Whatever you're planning, hurry it up, Arthur!"

"Shut up, you irritating brat!" Arthur yelled back.

He suddenly stopped pacing and his emerald green eyes glinted as an idea came to his mind. Taking his wand out of his sleeve, Arthur quickly made his way to the center of the room, crouched down to set the tip of his wand on the floor and quickly began to chant. The frost covered wooden floor around him glowed a ruby red as an elaborate magic circle began to form.

When the king stepped away from the circle, Alfred could see changing numbers in the center surrounded by various ancient runes – a countdown. He shot a questioning look to the man who he used to see as his father, who ignored it and swiftly ran to the window. He placed his wand on the glass and began another chant, a smaller magic circle drawing itself on the window.

It seemed like whatever Arthur was planning was taking forever, and Alfred was more than anxious to get out. He didn't even know why he relied on him in the first place. As the Fire Prince forced himself against the frozen door repeatedly with his uninjured shoulder, he realized that if he stopped moving, the frost would begin to settle on his boots. The incentive made him more panicked as he tried to ram himself against the door faster. From the corner of his eye, Alfred saw Arthur grab the chair he was standing on earlier. Alfred watched him bring the chair in the direction of the window.

Alfred yelled at Arthur when he realized what the king was trying to do. "Stop! Idiot, you're going to get us noticed!"

The Westerian King continued to make his way to the window and hurled the chair at it. Alfred covered his ears, expecting to hear the telltale shattering of glass. However, much to his surprise, he heard absolutely nothing. That was when the younger blonde realized that Arthur placed a silencing spell on the window earlier. He was about to jump from the window when Arthur stopped him, effectively leaving a cut on his hand from the abrupt stop.

"Now what?" he snarled, glaring at the older blond. One set of his fingers tapped with irritation on the window frame while the other set was being tended to by his mouth.

"Give me your coat," Arthur curtly ordered, in the middle of removing his red robe to reveal a white long sleeved cotton shirt and silk black trousers.

"What?" The fire prodigy's tone was disbelieving.

"Just shut up and do as I say!" the king growled with the same amount of impatience he had earlier.

"But –"

"We're running out of time! Just do it!"

At the very reasonable point, Alfred relented and quickly shed his midnight blue coat before running to the broken window. He then grabbed the window frame and swung himself out of the room and into a pile of bushes down below, with Arthur following suit. The fire prince didn't even get a chance to get up as the king dragged him up and pulled his arm as they were about to run away. But just as Arthur did so, Alfred felt a sharp pain in his left ankle and fell to one knee, which scraped on the earthy floor.

"What's wrong now?" the king groaned.

The prince tried to stand on the injured ankle and felt the splitting pain again. He sat on the floor and tried to bring his injured leg closer. He rolled up his pant leg and saw that his ankle was swollen and bent in an awkward position. Every time he tried to move it, the pain would cut through again. The king silently cursed as he looked like he made up his mind.

"Get on my back," he ordered as he crouched down facing away from the prince. Alfred was about to refuse as he tried to get up on his own. Instead, he replied with a gasp of pain.

"Do you want to live or not?!"

Grudgingly, the prince relented and got onto the king's back. As soon as Alfred was safely on his back, Arthur quickly stood up and ran from the palace as fast as his feet could carry him.

"What the hell was that all about?" he asked Arthur.

Arthur opened his mouth to answer when they heard an explosion from behind them. While the duo was still fleeing, Alfred turned his head back and his eyes widened in shock as he saw the room that they were previously trapped in being licked by flames and clouds of black smoke protruding out of said windowpane.

"You put a delayed _bomb spell_ in the room?!"

"Obviously," the king snapped, not facing his son.

"What for?" Arthur didn't respond, still avoiding eye contact with his son. The grip on Alfred's legs grew somewhat tighter. "Damn it, Arthur! Why don't you ever tell me –?"

"I faked our deaths, alright?" he quietly explained. Seeing as the king wouldn't speak further on the subject and that they really couldn't argue about it now, Alfred let the issue go for the moment. Arthur didn't talk again until they stopped at the top of a hill at the edge of the palace grounds and he gently set Alfred onto the ground.

But by the time he wanted to say something, Alfred was already brooding again. He glared at the burning castle as he tried to disregard the emerald-eyed gaze boring into the back of his head. His home was burning because of him. The palace held memories of a happier time – when he and Matthew played hide and seek in the gardens, or the times he saw his brother sleeping in a pile of books, cuddling his toy bear.

One of the only places that Alfred last saw his brother happy was slowly being destroyed before him. The more his thoughts pestered him, the angrier he was at his father. He was remembering what happened earlier – about his brother, and how Arthur was the cause of everything.

"Alfred?" the voice was timid, something Arthur hadn't been in a long time.

"Well, I hope you're happy," Alfred frostily responded. With the adrenalin still in his system, he had the newfound energy to be angry at his father. He shuffled closer to the palace and thrust a finger in its direction. "_This_ is what happens when you make stupid decisions. Not only did you delay the inevitable, you also abandoned Matthew, _your son_, _**my twin brother**_ – to those Northern bastards!"

"I've told you a million times that it was the only option at the time!" Arthur was never one to back down from a fight.

"Don't you dare give me that crap!" the prince roared back. "You saw him back there! You know _exactly_ what he's gone through because of you!"

"Any other option would have ended in a worse situation, you fool! Sacrificing your brother was the best option!" Arthur cried, desperation coloring his tone.

If Alfred hadn't been injured and if he hadn't had as much self control as he thought he did, nothing would have stopped him from hurting Arthur.

"You're wrong!" Alfred shook his head and his clenched fists were starting to draw blood. "There were better ways to fend off the North – ways that didn't involve tearing our family apart!"

When Arthur didn't fight back, everything became silent again – with the exception of the crackling fire in the distance. The king glanced at his son, who was glaring at the fire again and was now brooding about the fact that he couldn't go back to put out the fire because of his injury. Besides, he was told that it would alert the invaders of their escape. A few minutes later, Alfred turned back to glance at the older blond. He had a look of grief on his face as he watched their home go up in flames. When he noticed his son looking at him, he quickly wiped the tears from his eyes.

"I don't care if you believe me or not, but I'm all too aware of how much of this is my fault. I know that you'll never forgive me as long as you live. I know I won't," his tone turned bitter in self loathing.

"But even so," his look of calm strengthened into a look of resolve. "I swear I _will_ fix this. I will do everything in my power to save him."

"Yeah, whatever," he briskly replied. The Fire Prince, ever the pessimist when it came to the promises the king made, didn't believe his declaration. Arthur was never one to keep promises.

The sour moment worsened when they heard a larger explosion coming from the palace. The fire was spreading to the surrounding kingdom. They could hear the screams of men, women and children, the sounds of slaughter, the sounds of chaos soon after. Alfred was about to run to the kingdom to save as many as he could – only to be stopped by his injuries, that screamed out in pain, and Arthur, who quickly grabbed his wrist and shook his head in resignation. He bit his lip as a particularly loud scream could be heard.

The prince's glare intensified at him as he managed to get his hand out of the king's grip. He limped past him and sat on the ground not facing him, thinking about Arthur's earlier declaration, trying to ignore the sounds of terror. He would have relished at the thought that Arthur would always live with this scene for the rest of his life if it didn't do the same for him. A sneer threatened to form on his face.

"…So you're going to fix all of this, huh?"


End file.
